All Out at Moody Park 2013

The Fall Out at Melancholy Park

Listen with attentive ear and you shall mark
My tale of joy become woe at Moody Park.
A fantastic finale to a spectacular season end,
Laurels near grasped, but lost to a friend.
Let us now on this sorrowful saga embark.

It starts with Vermont and Boves and camping,
Ere to the Vermont Fifty they all went a tramping.
That night I spent comfortably in an Elemental bed,
With dreams of superhuman riding racing through my head
Sandwiched betwixt nasty nightmares of legs a cramping.

Up and at 'em the next morn with dawn's first light
No other car in the Moody Park lot to meet my sight.
Lucky triple ones to adorn the front of my bike.
That's a number I could get used to, a number to like.
Things were looking up, my future looked bright.

The pre-race meeting was under way at five minutes to nine.
Racer sizing up racer sizing up racer, up and down the line.
Directions had us doing a parade lap around the field,
And then into the singletrack each of us wheeled.
A little early misdirection, but it was going to be fine.

So instead of third I was eighth hitting the hole,
Passing all I could my immediate goal.
Now caught behind seventh in a Claremont Bike kit
Slower than I'd like, but great lines he knew to hit.
And once it opened up, right by I did roll.

Some climbing ahead, rooty and washed out,
But tire to ground contact left little doubt
Traction was going to be just fine on the course.
Clear to proceed to pedal full force.
So happy I just wanted to shout.

After crossing the park's main thoroughfare
A cacophony exploding in front made me aware
A rider up front had made a wrong turn
A mistake from which I was able to learn.
Looking ahead now the riders a mere pair.

The fellow in the front let number two and me by,
And we stepped it up a little, beginning to fly.
I managed to stay glued to his tail,
But for me to pass by, there wasn't enough trail.
So I settled in and for now followed the guy.

The trail turned then into some more technical stuff
And I was sick of following, I'd had quite enough.
A bobble in front replete with a quick dab
And then I was by, first place did I nab.
First place?  What?  This must be a bluff!

I knew at this point Robertson was close behind.
Time to kick it up a notch and try to grind.
I cleared the tech section, made it pretty well.
Now some wide smooth hardpack for a short spell,
Trying to gap more with bike slightly inclined.

Back to singletrack with the steepest climbing to come.
But still feeling great,  riding like a Bum.
Another glimpse of John, but a little further back
And nary a hint of the rest of the pack.
Onward and upward I steadily did drum.

Before I knew it I was back at the top
Two more laps to go before I could stop.
All alone still and feeling more'n good
I rode lap two as well as I could.
And 'fore I came round again by three novices I did hop.

Okay this was it, just stay upright through one final lap.
And then all of a sudden stop with a SNAP.
What the hell was that, I'm afraid to look down.
And then I see the hanger sheered off and begin to frown.
A race ending mechanical.  Friggin' crap.

I decide to continue onward as I push and I run.
But now the race has become significantly less fun.
Three minutes fifty seconds later Robertson flies past.
He was certainly the first, but far from the last.
Three miles before me, my hoofing just begun.

Dangling derailleur I zip tied to the frame
Which made me only really slightly less lame.
Push and shoulder, shoulder and push.
Only on downhills does the seat hit my tush.
Within ten minutes I'm out of the game.

But finish I did with a forty six minute last lap.
As opposed to twenty seven before, just call it a wrap.
The results showed me as a respectable fifth in my class,
But it's only five deep, I was handed my ass.
My performance today all over the map.

I stuck around to see the start of the next race
Steve Segenchuk looking prepared to set a fast pace.
And catch the awards, however much they hurt.
Great to see Robertson hit his paydirt,
Finishing his last Vet II contest all the way in first place.

And so ends our tale of joy and woe.
First to DFL is assuredly a tough row to hoe.
But all in all, I felt great at Moody
Despite my results looking like doody.
And next year I'll be back to give it another go.

Peak 6 Hour Mountain Bike Race, Green Mountain Trails, Pittsfield, VT

A little background.  For the past several years we’ve spoken of doing a 24 hour race with a four or five man team. Various incarnations of that team have surfaced and melted away, but the idea has been there. The race that seems to have had the most traction is Great Glen, but various factors (cost not being the least of these) has barred us from entering.

So last year when Peak announced they were doing the Peak 6/12/24 hour race on 9/14/13 and were offering 50% discounts on registration for signing up ridiculously early, we jumped on board.  The team was going to be Bryan Gareau, Jess Bly, Brandon O’Neal and me. 

As it turns out, when we tried to sign up we were advised that the only relay they had for 24 hours was a two man.  After some brief discussion, we decided we would sign up for two teams of two.  And since we’re not as stupid as some of you may think, we decided to compete in the 12 hour relay rather than the 24 hour relay. 

It was to be Brandon and me (formerly known as Team Tight Shorts at our similar appearance at the Pat’s Peak 12 hour relay a couple years ago) on one team and Bryan and Jess on the other team, presumably under the name Team Droopy Drawers.

So that was last November, I think.  Fast forward nine months.  I‘ve had a pretty good biking season.  Brandon was biking well coming into the race.  Things were going to be just fine.

Then I checked the event site.  And noticed that they were no longer using Bike Reg for registrations.  It was now directing to Eventbrite.  And the Eventbrite page didn’t have a category for two-man twelve hour relays.  What the what? 

The Bike Reg page was still up at this point and accepting registrations, but there were no additional 12 hour relay teams.  And there was nothing linking to Bike Reg.  So it wasn’t looking like much competition.

Bewildered, stymied and perplexed, I contacted the race director, Andy Weinberg.  He said they didn’t have much interest and had pulled the category, but that we could still race that category or switch over to six hour solo registrations if we would rather.  If we remained as 12 hour relay teams, it looked like we’d just be racing each other though.

We discussed and decided we would switch to the six hour solo.  I was a little bummed about this, but there wasn’t much to be done.  What started as a four man 24 hour race was now four individual six hour races.  But as Robert Burns one so eloquently said,

The best laid schemes of mountain bikers
Go often awry,
And leave us nothing but grief and pain,
For promised joy!

The great thing about the 12 hour race was that it was going to be starting at 6 am, so no lights required.  The six hour race was starting at noon.  Which was okay.  Plenty of time to get around in the morning and get ready.

Two days before the race we received an email.  All races were now starting at 8 am.  But if people had to absolutely start at 12 pm for the six hour, they could contact the race director.  And the barbecue was canceled.  What the what?

We were camping at Gifford Woods on Friday and Saturday nights, so the 8:00 am start wasn’t problematic for us.  Just unexpected. 

So Friday morning we trekked up to VT, stopping in Swanzey for breakfast along the way, with an eye on pre-riding the course.  As we got into the mountains, it started raining.  More than a little.  We remained optimistic because the forecast looked decent for the weekend. Possible showers Friday morning, but clearing.  And then partly sunny and in the sixties for Saturday. 

If y’all have ever been in the mountains before though, you know mountain weather is a fickle creature.  It does what it wants, wholly disregarding your laughable little Doppler radar maps and other farcical forecasting contraptions.

As it turns out, by the time we got to the campground, it was indeed letting up.  I was still concerned to know what it had done to trail conditions at the race venue though.

After setting up and having the single requisite setting up beer, we headed north on 100 a little way to get up to the trails.  My mind continues to be blown at the amount of damage that this little town endured as a result of Hurricane Irene.  There are still houses askew where the normally mild mannered Tweed River ripped them from their properties and deposited them downstream.

 

Unlike years’ past, the 2013 Peak Mountain Bike Race was starting further up the hill.  We took the right onto Tweed River Drive just before the covered bridge and headed up hill.  As we continued to take turns toward the parking area, the road became increasingly narrow, all the while steadily rising.

Eventually we came up to the area that was set up for the event. 

Race Ready

 We weren’t super clear the direction the course was traveling, but definitely saw signs of course markings.  After quickly changing up we started in.  The clearest markings had us heading up the course on Warman.  We dubiously pedaled up. Through Warman and into Labyrinth.  This was my first time pedaling up these trails.  Had you asked me beforehand, I would have told you pedaling up Warman was wonky.  As it turned out, the bermed switchbacks that make Warman such a pleasure to ride down make it a pretty sweet route to the top as well. 

At the summit hut, we confirmed a sneaking suspicion that had been gaining traction in each of our minds with each upward pedal stroke.  We were riding the course backwards.  Of course we were.  Dumb asses.

So we about-faced and rode back down Labyrinth and Warman to where we had parked and headed up what basically would have been the road had the road not ended.  We were now firmly on course.

The course went up Green Trail and Zebedee. Some of the marking tape was down and in one place it was put back up incorrectly by someone.  But between the four of us, we have half a brain and were able to figure it out.  By this time, we were rather enjoying ourselves.  The climbing wasn’t horrible.  The trails were fun.  The course was looking pretty good.

Then we hit Upper Fusters.  Upper Fusters?  What’s that?  Upper Fusters, my friends, is a new trail.  A wide swath of a trail heading ever down, sweeping through high banked berms and riddled with newborn earthen jumps.  Single jumps and twin jumps.  Most all offered a way around at no penalty.  Upper Fusters, my friends, is singularly stunning.  A trail that transports you back to the joy you experienced the first time you felt the freedom of a mountain bike betwixt your legs.  Transcendence attained.

And as you might guess, Upper Fusters leads into…  FUSTERS!!!  Holy hallelujah!  Are you kidding me?  This spectacular specimen of a mountain bike trail leads into yet another equally spectacular trail that lasts seemingly forever?  Pshaw!  Ludicrous, I say.  No, it’s true!

We continued down Fusters’ hairpin turns, shrieking with fear and delight rolled into one overwhelming sense of sheer exhilaration.    My god!  This trail alone is worth a trip to the Green Mountain Trails.  I’m not sure exactly how long it lasts, but the total downhill (Upper Fusters, Fusters, Stairs, Riverside Run) was just about five miles.  My face was aching from smiling so hard for so long.  Almost as much as my arms hurt from hanging on so tight.

However, as Bryan Gareau was overheard saying, “All good things must come to an end.”  At the bottom of Riverside Run we caught the switchbacked climb up Crazy Mazie to Noodles Revenge.  That took us to a short piece of jeep road and then dumped us onto Upper Noodles and that onto Luvin’ It. 

These trails, combined, were about 4.3 miles, climbing 848 feet.  That averages out to be a 4.4% grade.  That’s just about the grade of Heartbreak Hill, but for 11.5 times longer.  I was definitely feeling my legs by the time we reached the summit just after the end of Luvin’ It.  We had agreed we were taking it easy through the course, with the race being the next day, but as easy as you can take it, climbing a mountain is still climbing a mountain.

We finished our pre-race reconnaissance mission with a second trip down Labyrinth and Warman. 

At the end of the ride, BG’s cyclometer read that we had completed 15.98 miles of two-wheeled bliss.  Taking it easy, we were out about 2:06.  Everyone still felt pretty good and we had a leg up, knowing the course.  Success!

As far as trail conditions, I was amazed.  Except for two short stretches where we followed the path of some heavy equipment, the trail had handled the rain unbelievably well.  Those two stretches combined were maybe 30 yards long, but were full of gloopy, gloppy, soupy, sloppy mud.

We also encountered one downed tree on Warman.  But as luck would have it, we met a fella with a chainsaw who was seeking said tree.  By the time we hit Warman a second time, the tree was clear.

Race route engrained in our heads, we headed down to the farm where the main trailhead is, now called Sweet Georgia P’s, to see if we could borrow their hose to de-gloop, de-glop, de-soup and de-slop our bikes.   

The folks running the farm were most hospitable, welcoming us to their water and talking bikes, farms and life with us.  We noticed they had a great supply of wood stored on the backside of the barn and they were kind enough to sell us a bunch of it for our campfire back at Gifford Woods.  

Wheels and wood.

They even gave me this super tomato!

Heirloom

On the way back to the camp we hit the Pittsfield General Store for some supplies.  Okay, mostly for some beer.  But I would argue beer is most definitely a supply when camping.

We all went through our bikes, making ready for the big day Saturday.  The last vestiges of the mud were removed and drivetrains were wiped clean and lubed.

For dinner we feasted on pasta and sauce with meatballs, sausage and pork courtesy of April Gareau (thanks again, April!) along with a salad and some bread.  And beer.

Modig met us right around dinner time, but his mom packed him dinner, so he did his own thing.

Shoes are dry.  Good fire.

After along car ride, a solid pre-ride, big meal and a few beers, we were bushed.  We all turned in pretty early.  The four old men slept under the lean-to side by side on various air mattresses and thermarests while the young whippersnapper threw up a small tent on the back side of the lean-to.

The next morning we arose to the sounds of Jess lighting a campfire and starting to cook breakfast.  I think most of us were up around 5:30 and getting our gear together.

Breakfast was perfect.  Bacon from the General Store and scrambled eggs. Also some everything bagels cooked on the griddle.  And a cup o’ joe, o’ course.

Registration for the race opened at 6:30 am.  We arrived shortly after 7:00 am, chuckling aloud as we saw Brian Spring’s big rig for work parked at the base of the last narrow stretch of road.  Too much truck for so little road.

We grabbed our numbers and t-shirts and socks (yes, cycling socks!) and then got geared up and ready to roll.

Race Prep

There was a quick race meeting about 10 minutes before the race started.  We learned that after a storm on Thursday, there had been 14 trees down and that every single one had been cleared.  Kudos Peak! 

We also learned that one guy was responsible for the maintenance of existing trails and building of new trails.  Matt Baatz apparently spends countless hours working these trails.  And it shows!

The race format, as with years’ previous, was that we would all take off on a lemans start at 8:00 am.  After a brief run down the hill, around a bucket and back up, we would head out.  The goal was to do as many laps as you could in six hours.  As long as the clock hadn’t hit 2 pm when you came through, you could go out for another lap.

We had talked the day before about being okay with three laps, but that we’d be happy to get four.  Modig was gunning for five.

So with the go command, we took off.  Actually Jon took off.  Brandon not far behind.  BG and I trotted, but did not run.  Jess and BMA (Brian Spring), walked.

Maybe a minute or two later we were back at our bikes.  BG and I started riding up the hill together.  We were in the latter portion of the pack having not run very hard, but were gaining places immediately.  Everyone was pretty cool and we were able to pass in tandem.  A couple of people were even a little chatty. 

This was my first time intentionally racing with someone on a course and I was enjoying it.  It definitely made the race less of a head game as there was always someone with whom to chat.  Every once in a while we would even catch a glimpse of Brandon somewhere ahead on a place where the trail cut back in on itself.

By the time we had summited and were coming down Upper Fusters into Fusters, we were pretty much alone.  Three quarters of the way through Fusters we came into some traffic.  There were four guys in front of us piled up.  Not an easy place to pass either since Fusters is bench cut into the side of the hill.

Upper Fusters (photo credit to Matt Baatz)

Eventually we got by all of them and one even came with us for a while on our tail.  As we started climbing we were seeing people up the hill at various levels.  Switchbacks like these are fun in a race.  They really let you see the people in front of you who you are trying to catch and also the folks behind you chasing you. 

We kept steady through the climb and passed a couple more people.  By this time I was feeling like we were in the top 50%, but had no way of being sure.  Eventually the passes become less frequent as people fall into their places.

Nice view, eh Jess? (photo credit to Peak Races)

After the first lap we grabbed a quick bite and a drink and proceeded on.  The second lap was harder, but I was still feeling pretty good.  I think I laid my bike down once in lieu of crashing coming down Fusters.  I had my best effort at clearing the stream crossing on Fusters this lap, but still dabbed as I was coming out of the stream.  By the time we reached the bottom, I could feel that BG was holding back a little to stay with me.  He was still looking super strong.  He said he was happy riding with me though.  So we proceeded on and up the switchbacks again.  Part way through I dropped my chain into my spokes in the back.  I was able pull it out pretty quickly and catch back up.  A short while later on this same lap, I snapped a spoke.  Probably a correlation coefficient of about 1.0 to my previously mentioned mishap.

I had too many spokes anyways.

I wrapped the spoke around the other spokes and kept going.  Up and up and up.  BG was definitely riding stronger.  By the end of that second lap, I couldn’t see him ahead any more.  But he was in the pit stop at the start/finish when I came in again. 

After refueling and filling up my Camelbak, we headed back out.  It was somewhere on Fusters, I think, where I lost BG on the third lap and never caught him again.  That made me feel better from a guilt standpoint, but I was saddened to lose his company.  And to know that I had most certainly lost him because I was losing steam.  I finished up the third lap, stopping part way through to grab a PowerBar and watching a couple of people I’d passed earlier pass by me. 

At this point though, my new goal was just to keep moving forward.  I finished the climb and came into the pit stop for my third and final time.  I was at about four hours and 37 minutes at this point.  The fourth lap was going to happen.  I ate a sandwich, a handful of grapes and had a Wild Cherry Pepsi and was off one last time.  I made it through the initial climb again, but this time feeling a little woozy. 

As I started coming down Upper Fusters, I realized I was no longer riding well.  Cornering one of those big, switchbacked berms I mentioned earlier, I simply lost all steam and just fell over.  Oof.  Back up and at ‘em, I continued on.  I fell at least twice more on Fusters.  Once was nearly spectacular. 

This time, on what I knew would be my final ascent to the summit, I used my granny gear up front for the first time.  I’d made the first three laps in my 36 tooth big ring, but no way, no how I was going to make it up again. 

I did make it up.  And I did make it back down Labyrinth and Warman.  The last stupid little climb up the fire road to the start finish was about as hard as anything I remembered thus far.  I had zero legs.  Fortunately, no one passed me riding this last part.

At the end, BG and Brandon were there to meet me.  They had both completed four laps and Bryan had almost caught Brandon, coming in only a minute behind him.  They were both in from four laps at just before six hours and could have both gone out for another lap, but wanted no part of it.

Brian Spring was also at the finish line.  He had stopped at three laps, but was planning on racing the Freetown 50 the next day.  Nutter.

Modig came in right after me, finishing five laps in just a little longer than it took me to do four.  Hard to believe I knew this kid when he was on platform pedals and fell apart at every hill and every rock.  What a long way he’s come.  Awesome Modig!

Jess came in about 20 minutes after me.  As it turns out, that stream crossing I mentioned ate his lunch on his second lap (I think).  He took it high (how, I have no idea) and crashed hard, dislocating or breaking his pinky.  He said it was bent 90 degrees out and he had to pop it back straight.  He finished his lap (with all the climbing) before he was back at the pit stop and was able to tape it to the ring finger.  Then he finished two more laps.  That’s some spunk!

Post-Race Smiles

We hung around and had a Heady Topper, courtesy of BG, while talking race with anyone and everyone.  I had an opportunity to speak with the trail builder, Matt Baatz, at length. It’s nothing short of amazing that he does all this by hand.  On top of that, he rides his bike up that godforsaken dirt road hill every day before he starts working on the trails.  Hats off to you, Matt Baatz.

I also spoke with a guy named Matty from True Wheels bike shop on the Killington access road.  He was a pretty cool guy and gave us some good pointers for our planned recovery ride the next day at Pine Hill Park in Rutland.

We did notice as we were hanging about that while there had been no other pre-registered 12 hour relay teams, as I pointed out earlier, there were apparently five teams that registered in this category day of.  We totally could have raced this category after all.

Before we left, we were able to get our finishing places from the race director.  As it turns out, these places changed later on in the day.  They let out a second wave of riders at noon for the six hour race and added them to our results.  I do take slight umbrage with this for the following reasons.

The riders starting at noon:

• Did not have a lemans start – they were able to get right on their bikes and go
• Enjoyed drier conditions as the day progressed
• Enjoyed warmer temperatures than our frigid start
• Did not have the same large mass of people to pass at the beginning of the race

That said, I guess it didn’t change my race at all, just my results.

Here are the results of the folks I knew:

Name	# Laps	Miles	Time	Place w/o  noon racers	Place w/ noon racers
Jon	5	62.5	6:28	2	2/46
Brandon	4	50	5:57	5	6/46
BG	4	50	5:58	6	7/46 (3 way tie)
Rob	4	50	6:22	10	14/46
Jess	4	50	6:43	11	15
BMA	3	37.5	6:05	??	32

I also tracked my lap times (which, oddly, add up to two minutes faster than my official time):

Lap	Time
1	1:22:05
2	1:31:37
3	1:46:05
4	1:40:34
Total	6:20:22

And here is the elevation graph from BG’s Strava (which shows the race about 7.5 miles shorter than it was due to all the switchbacks):

All in all, a great day mountain biking.  And while the race had its issues this year, it’s still a great race.  The trails are superb and the people were great!

Many, many thanks to all who worked so hard to make this race happen.  Especially Andy Weinberg, Matt Baatz, the DeSena family and all the volunteers who helped with registration, marking the course and clearing the course after Thursday’s storm.

Can’t wait to do it again next year (hopefully hiccup free). 

After a dinner at the Clear River Tavern, we headed back to the camp site, showered up and enjoyed some celebratory beers before calling it a night.

The next day, the five of us met up with Dave Violette and Ron Erickson at Pine Hill Park in Rutland for a recovery ride.  Great place to ride.  Small, but chock full of great terrain.  

Pine HILL Park

The Crew

If you go, you have to try to hit all of the ridiculous bridges.  And you MUST ride Halfpipe.  What a blast.

BG, Jess and Brandon rode the first five or so miles with us before cutting out.  Jess’ finger was, understandably, killing him.

Jon and I rode another six or so miles before calling it a day.  Our legs were cooked.  Here’s Jon’s GPS track.

And Dave and Ron continued on from there.  For all I know they still may be there today!

And this little gem for those of you who read till the end.